


Tied

by on_the_run_from_the_MI5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit weird, Domestic Fluff, Jim is a psychopath, M/M, Phone Call, Tie, kind of at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3080546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_run_from_the_MI5/pseuds/on_the_run_from_the_MI5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While other people have breakfast with their loved ones, Jim Moriarty arranges an assassination or two. In Sebastian’s eyes, he is not an ordinary human being...until – sometimes – he does something human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tied

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so... I don't know. It popped into my head. I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense.  
> For Mim, as always

Sometimes, a day just started out...okay. Sebastian woke to what he loved in the morning: sunlight peeking through the kitchen window, the smell of fresh coffee... and a crazy little psychopath yelling into his mobile phone.  
“I didn’t want to say it, because it is an annoying and ridiculous thing to say, but really, Mr. Lee: you had one job!” As Jim banged his fist on the kitchen table, Sebastian decided to just lean against the counter and hold his coffee mug in his hands instead of risking a tiny hot-liquid-all-over-the-place-incident that early in the day.  
He would have thought, “Aw, the poor sod on the phone”, but then, he didn’t actually care. Toast was his first priority now. Then literally everything else in the world. And then poor Mr. Lee.  
As Seb put the knife into the sink and bit into his toast with jam, Jim was just in the middle of a ten-ways-to-separate-your-arms-from-the-rest-of-your-body-discourse. The sniper was once again thankful for having such a strong stomach as he licked a bit of the slimy red jelly from his fingers.  
He took another sip of coffee as he watched the consulting criminal prance up and down while he was still shouting at Lee... and realized that this was another one of those moments. Another one of those weird moments that could have been domestic if it weren’t for Jim.  
For a short moment, he gave in to think about the irony of it all. There was he, on one side. A gun for hire, yes, an assassin, but in this moment, that wasn’t actually him. In this moment, he was all Seb, Seb in a pair of pyjama bottoms and a Slayer shirt, Seb who would really hate mornings if it weren’t for coffee, Seb who just wanted to eat jam toast and not go to work but had to anyway. In this moment, he could have been one of those millions and millions of middle-class boyfriends and husbands and daddies who wanted to enjoy the few minutes they had with their loved ones around the kitchen table before they had to work in an awfully boring office job. Sebastian Moran was just an absolutely average human being in that moment, and that was fine by him.  
Jim, in contrast, absolutely didn’t fit the scene. The man was already (or still?) dressed in leather shoes and slacks and a shirt and a skull tie, not a hair out of place, and he was already (well, still) in Moriarty attitude. The kitchen that could have looked so nice was shook up by a small man with an enormous presence who was hissing things like “If you fuck this up I will destroy you”, “How hard can it be to just kidnap someone?” and “I was asking you to kill somebody, not solve the damned three body problem!” into his mobile, the evil glinting in his eyes. Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal, was never anything else than that. He wasn’t one to make breakfast for his “honey”, he’d probably just made coffee to keep his hands from scratching his own face confronted with the stupidity of his employee. Jim didn’t do “domestic”, he did business – of the worst kind – and he was never ever going to be human, not for one second, as it seemed, no matter how often they went to bed together, spent the night and woke up with each other in the morning.  
Which was fine by Seb as well, but still sent shivers down his spine.  
“Look, then fucking torture him, for God’s sake”, Jim growled and absently indicated Sebastian to take a look at the table.  
The sniper willingly complied, swallowing down the last bite of his toast, and came over to find an inconspicuous beige folder on the table. So, business it was. Seb took a look inside. Standard procedure: name. Photo. Location. “Terminate”. Pretty easy. There was a note in Jim’s handwriting on the side. “It’s a business meeting – wear something SUITable, tiger.”  
With a roll of the eyes, Sebastian looked at his boss/flatmate/guy he slept with/maniac he might accidentally like and was not even spared a glance as Moriarty continued to go through all possible painful, but non-lethal torture options in his conversation. So he had to put on a suit.  
And he’d thought the day was going to be okay?  
Fifteen minutes later, Seb emerged from the bathroom showered and dressed to the nines in a suit he would never have picked for himself. It was the Moriarty uniform, the kind of thing he’d practically never seen Jim without and... well, maybe Seb didn’t hate it, he just didn’t love it, either. Especially not the tie. This was just a bloody strip of cloth, and he was not a sailor, for fuck’s sake. How did Jim manage to do this all the time?  
Meanwhile, Moriarty’s yelling hadn’t stopped, and sure enough, as Sebastian re-entered the kitchen fiddling with the silk dangling from his neck, the Irishman was still strutting up and down maniacally, insulting and spitting venom and showing himself from his most immoral side.  
“Well, then be creative, you moron!” the consulting criminal yelled into his smart phone, snagged his BlackBerry from his pocket and typed a quick message before continuing his tirade. Probably just ordered someone else’s death or a bomb attack or a trifle like a heist. Just via a few words on his BlackBerry. No big deal.  
“I don’t care, for God’s sake”, Jim whined and turned to face his right hand man with an annoyed expression. “Kidnap his bloody son and threaten to kill him. Something like that.”  
The man’s dark eyes fixated on Sebastian’s hands, still fighting with that bloody tie. With an unnerved sigh – probably at both Lee and Seb – the man beckoned Sebastian to come over while he tucked his mobile between his ear and shoulder.  
As always, the blond man complied... and was surprised to find Jim reaching for him with his now free hands.  
“Oh, Jesus Christ almighty... Just a child?” Jim snorted as he gripped the dark blue silk of Seb’s tie and began knotting it. “Mr. Lee, rest assured that I wouldn’t care even if he was a Labrador puppy. I want Abdul Slimani’s list of terrorist contacts and his dead body, as soon as possible. And when I say ‘as soon as possible’, I mean as fucking soon as humanly possible, even if you have to shoot your own grandmother in the process, are we clear?”  
He’d finished tying the knot around Sebastian’s neck, yet he didn’t let go for another moment. He just smoothed the tie down his chest, and ran his hands over the sniper’s lapels in an absent gesture, all the while hissing, “Wrong answer, Mr. Lee. What I want to hear is, ‘Yes, sir.’ Can you say that? ‘Yes, sir’?”  
He dropped his hands and stared into the air for a second. Then he gave a nasty smile. “Attaboy.” And he continued to prattle on about possible torture methods and locations for a hostage to keep and how bloody easy this job would have been if Lee hadn’t fucked it up.  
Sebastian, in the meantime, stood in the kitchen as though he was petrified.  
He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Jim Moriarty... doing something so human as knotting a double Windsor or whatever it was around Sebastian’s neck. Smoothing his lapels. Being... some sort of... affectionate.  
So that was domesticity for them, then. Jim, doing Seb’s tie like a good little wifey... while ruling the world of crime on the phone. Human and inhuman in just one tiny little moment.  
How utterly disturbing. How bloody thrilling.  
With an inevitable smile on his face, Sebastian went to pick up the briefcase in the corner and check its contents for a second. Two SIG Sauer with silencers. Not what your ordinary husband would take with him to the office but... who actually cared, right?  
Resisting the urge to kiss Jim goodbye or at least blow him kiss, Sebastian flashed his boss a wink, who reacted with a roll of the eyes and a lopsided smile while he still gave Lee very detailed instructions on how to extract information from Mr. Slimani.  
Oh, who cared about human or not, Sebastian would forever be tied to this. To Jim. To this life. To coffee and toast and killing and torture, all in one morning.  
He headed down the hall to go out on his job when he heard Jim say, “Gosh, really? You don’t know? Is not-knowing your superpower, Mr. Lee? Hang on for a bit.” And then he called out, “Seb?”  
Sebastian turned on his heel to find Jim poking his head around the corner, one hand covering the receiver.  
“Be a love and bring some coffee on the way back. And fresh milk. And the dead body of this idiot”, he said and looked at the mobile phone.  
Seb was still for a second. Then he grinned. Turned around. Opened the door. “Sure thing, honey. Sure thing.”


End file.
